According to Sarah
What I thought was a bird is really a cow, according to Sarah.
“You see,” she says, snatching the ink-blot from my hand. She twists it upside-down. “Anyone can see it's a cow - not an eagle.” She's laughing.
“Sure, Sarah,” I tell her. Does she see my eyes roll at her?
“No, Cyran, really,” she continues, as if she can sense that I couldn't care less. “The shape is much wider - you can see it in the hips here. And the legs,” she thrusts the paper in my face. “You can clearly see it has four legs.”
I push the paper away from my face. “Okay, Sarah,” I snap back. I still think it's a bird, but I tell her otherwise. She's a math statistics major, so there's no use arguing. I definitely wouldn't be able to convince her of it, anyways. I had a hard enough time last week just pointing out the slight ambiguity of poll testing in psychological research. At least this time she'll find it difficult to insert her “according to statistics” bid - though I wouldn't be the least surprised if she does.
She's half-joking, of course (she hates apathetic people who don't care whether or not it's a bird or cow, or some other animal), and she chuckles as she triumphantly places the ink-blot on the table and walks back to her laptop to continue her work. I first met her at a mutual friend's house party. She was a terrible dancer - it was like trying to learn how to ice-skate - and had an awkward gait - her feet would point to the sides like a penguin. But she was cute and paid me no attention. Those were good days.
On our first date, I paid, like a gentleman, for everything: fifty dollars for dinner, and twenty dollars for movie tickets, popcorn, and drinks. And it was her choice for the movie; something like Forever and Ever - I nodded through most of it. And all through the dinner we did nothing but argue about feminism and women's rights. I'll admit, I was intrigued at first: she, a staunch feminist who savored a male's bark; and I was into political science at the time, so I loved debating. But I'm in English now: humility, modesty, and irony are my virtues - and an occasional hint of sarcasm.
Of course, these days aren't bad. She keeps me cozy at night, so I'm not alone in the morning. And she has a cuteness in her smile; it reminds me of my mom. When she and my mom met, they got along well, especially since my mom's an active feminist.
“That was fun. I really like your mother,” Sarah said to me, as we left my parents' house to go back to school. “But why did we leave so early? You don't have work due until Sunday.”
“I can't stay there for too long,” I replied. “My mother has a way of getting under my skin.”
I can tell she's thinking; she always nods her head to herself when she has “brilliant idea.” She turns to me.
“What is it, now?” I insert before she speaks.
“I was thinking...There's this online survey that popped up. It's for people in relationships, to see if it's a healthy relationship. One of my assignments for class is that I have to take an online survey - so if you could come here and take it with me that would be lovely.”
Something is telling me she's not saying the whole truth. “But c'mon,” I argue, “you don't really believe in that stuff.” I recount to her the numerous times where she would quickly cancel out of pop-up ads asking her to take a survey. “They never prove anything anyways,” she would say.
“Well, you do always tell me to be more open-minded about stuff...” She is really fighting for this.
I eventually concede - that is usually the case - and we take the survey. Or should I say, she takes the survey, and I'm just the cheerleader:
“Sure, hon.”
“And we don't really argue that much, right?”
“Right, hon.”
The results come back, ironically, positive: “You will have a long lasting relationship filled with peace and joy.” Sounds like a fortune cookie. She can barely contain her smile, and I can barely keep from laughing. I follow the website where the ad comes from. It's titled, “How to Get a Man to Treat You Right!” (The page is already bookmarked on her server.)
